may we stay lost on our way home
by whyyesitscar
Summary: Clarke is having a pretty terrible day and unwittingly ends up taking her frustrations out on the same stranger. Twice. / or, the one where I combined two different tumblr prompts bc I couldn't decide which one I liked better.


**A/N: Written as part of The 100 Femslash Challenge. I _almost_ goofed and posted this before they revealed the authors but now I can safely say: this is mine! I wrote this!**

 **Original prompts: "there's a long ass train and we've been waiting for it to pass for twenty minutes and you're leaning out of the window of your car yelling at it so I'll make some polite conversation" and "I've had a really awful day so I started kicking a car out of frustration and it turned out to be your car I'm so sorry". Title and lyrics excerpted from "C'mon" by Panic! at the Disco feat. fun.**

* * *

 _come on, come on; with everything, falling down around me  
_ _I'd like to believe in all the possibilities.  
_ _(it's getting late and I cannot seem to find my way home tonight.)_

/

Clarke Griffin was not going to have a very good day. She had only been awake for forty-five minutes but still, it was clear: this Wednesday was not _her_ Wednesday. She had slept through her alarm; her water pressure was on the fritz again, which turned her shower from a soothing waterfall into a sensation she can only describe as being sporadically peed on; and now, she was trapped by the world's longest train. It had to be, because Clarke had been sitting for seven minutes waiting for it to pass and she still couldn't see the end of it.

She tapped her fingers impatiently against her steering wheel, as she had been doing for six minutes and forty seconds. "Come on, come on…" she urged, almost getting excited when a car came into view that looked like it should be at the end of the train.

Not only was it not near the end, but the train shuddered to a complete stop.

"Are. You. Kidding. Me," Clarke muttered. Then she rolled down her window. "Are you _KIDDING_ me?" she repeated, only this time she screamed it.

"Have I traveled back in time?" she continued yelling. "Am I suddenly stuck behind the first train ever invented? Is this still running on coal? Horses move faster than this!"

"Actually, horses are pretty stubborn," a voice yelled back.

Clarke leaned her head out of the window, twisting until she saw the beat-up yellow van behind her. "What?"

"I mean, sure, you _could_ persuade a horse to run faster than a stopped train, but I wouldn't bet on it unless you really knew that horse," the voice continued. It was a nice voice, Clarke decided. The words were annoying, but the voice was nice.

"Listen, I would _love_ to get into a debate with you about literal horsepower versus mechanical horsepower, but my day is shaping up to be a crapheap and it's barely even started. I don't even want to think about how late I'm gonna be for work."

"Okay. Do you want to keep yelling?"

Clarke smiled. "You know what? Yes. Yes, I would really like to keep screaming at this fucking train."

"Okay. I'll join you. What's your name?"

"Clarke. You?"

"Lewis," the voice answered.

Clarke had to laugh. "You're shitting me. Lewis and Clarke, stuck behind a train?"

"Yep."

The train still hadn't moved but suddenly everything was funny. Clarke leaned further out of her window, hoping to get a better look at her new friend. "For real, your name is Lewis?"

A woman leaned out of the van. "No," she smiled. "I was shitting you. My name is Lexa. But I couldn't resist."

Clarke scrunched her nose in disappointment before making a very exaggerated turn back toward the train.

"Hey asshole!" she screamed. "You made Lexa lie to me!"

The train hissed. Clarke saw its wheels begin to turn very, very slowly.

"You're welcome!" Lexa yelled back.

/

Her good mood stayed for another half an hour. Lexa turned fairly quickly after they crossed the tracks, giving a friendly wave before she disappeared out of sight. Clarke wished they had ended up going in the same direction. She'd meant what she said about that horse discussion.

Clarke wasn't as late to work as she thought she'd be. Her boss barely rolled his eyes, which was better than a frown. But then the coffee machine stopped working and she was stuck in meetings until noon that her assistant had forgotten to tell her about. By the time Clarke had time free for lunch, she was ready to punch something, or maybe even a few somethings. But she held out and made her way to her favorite burger place, deciding this was a day for the comfort of greasy fries and meat. She'd have a salad tomorrow.

In the ten minutes it took her to get there, Clarke was almost hit by two cars and a bicyclist who should have been on the road instead of the street. When she stumbled over an uneven patch of sidewalk, Clarke lost it. She'd had enough of the little obstacles and nuisances that seemed to be plaguing her day. If she'd been around any of her friends, particularly Raven or Octavia, she would have jabbed them in the shoulder a few times. They would have understood (eventually.)

But she wasn't, so when she lashed out she took it out on the closest thing to her. Clarke whipped around and kicked the first tire she saw, relishing the way the rubber made her shoes bounce back so the next kick would be even more forceful.

"Do you have something against vehicles or is it just my lucky day?"

Clarke looked up, her eyes widening. "Oh my god."

"Hi, Clarke."

"Oh my god."

"I saw a kid with a scooter a few blocks away. You could throw it on the ground when you're done beating up Otis."

"Oh my god, this is not happening. Today is not real." Clarke pushed her hair back from her face and stepped away from the curb. She dragged her hands down her cheeks. "You named your car Otis?" she asked from behind her fingers.

Lexa shrugged. "The front bumper kind of looks like a face, and that face looks like an Otis."

"You say very strange things."

"Well, today has been very strange."

Clarke smiled and crossed her arms across her chest, leaning against the restaurant's brick wall. "Are you saying you don't normally scream at trains at seven in the morning?"

"Do you?"

"Only on Wednesdays."

"You know, I don't hold a monopoly on saying strange things." Lexa stepped closer, leaning on the bit of wall next to her, hands resting casually in her pockets. "I'd hate to see what your Thursdays are like," she grinned.

Clarke chuckled. "Usually a lot better than this. Listen, I was just about to get a burger at Hub's. Feel like joining me? You could call it an apology for my vehicular assault."

Lexa pushed herself off the wall. "I'd rather call it lunch," she winked.

Lexa walked like she was wearing suspenders under her coat.

If she was, Clarke was gonna be in _so_ much trouble.

/

Lexa wasn't wearing suspenders, which thankfully allowed Clarke to actually concentrate on their conversation. It was a conversation that required focus; Lexa had an interesting habit of responding with an apparent non-sequitur after listening to Clarke speak for a few good minutes. Clarke was only able to determine how they related to what she'd said with a few thoughtful questions and a lot of backtracking.

"We've been sitting here for almost an hour and I still don't know what you do," Clarke said, sipping the last of her soda. "For all I know you could be playing hooky from some very important work."

"Oh, I do have some very important work to do, but I'm not playing hooky," Lexa responded. "Today's my day off."

"From…?"

Lexa smiled and Clarke forgot how to breathe. She didn't even know smiles could work like that. "I run a nonprofit after-school center for underprivileged kids."

"Of course you do," Clarke muttered.

"Sorry?"

"Oh, you know, that just seems to be how my day is going. I get caught yelling at a train by a stranger, roll in late to work, struggle through meetings all morning, take my frustrations out on the same stranger's car, and then you turn out to be gorgeous, funny, generous, and did I mention that you should never stop smiling?"

Lexa smiled even wider and Clarke couldn't help reciprocating. "What do you do, Clarke?"

"Nothing that interesting," Clarke dismissed with a wave of her hand. "I'm in marketing. It feeds my wallet but not always my mind."

"What does feed your mind?"

"Art. Design, if you want to be corporate about it."

"So why aren't you doing that?"

"It's where I started," Clarke shrugged. "But it just wasn't a good fit within my company so they kept me on and moved me to marketing. Most days, I like it well enough."

"What company do you work for?"

"Oh, I can't tell you that."

"Okay. What's your last name?"

"I can't tell you that either. You'll Google me," Clarke grinned.

"You're Google-able?"

"Aren't you?"

Clarke was positive she saw Lexa wink.

"It seems like you might be scheming over there, Clarke."

"I might be, yeah."

"Scheming only works if you plan on seeing me again."

"I might be doing that, too."

"You're a little presumptuous, aren't you?"

Clarke wrote her number on a napkin and slid it across the table. "Don't Google me."

/

The closer to Christmas it got, the more Clarke seemed to be in a mood to kick cars. She hadn't seen Otis since her first lunch with Lexa, not that she would want to kick him anyway. She knew Lexa well enough now that she wouldn't ever mess with Otis.

Lexa was just as enigmatic over a text as she was in person. Sometimes Clarke couldn't respond fast enough to keep up with the influx of messages and other times they wouldn't talk for a day or two. But suddenly, one of them would send a text and it would be like they'd never stopped. Clarke found herself trying to hang onto that feeling, the rush the sped through her when Lexa responded after a dry spell. It was like the way her stomach flipped on rollercoasters only without the threat of death.

By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, it had been about a day and a half since they'd last spoken. But Clarke had a plan more important than work, so she put turned her attention away from her multitude of projects and called Lexa.

"I was beginning to think I'd never hear from you again," Lexa said in lieu of a greeting.

"So full of the Christmas spirit, I see."

"I'm only kidding, Clarke. I know you're busy." She paused and Clarke imagined her moving around her apartment with a mug of tea, maybe tucking a strand of hair behind her ears. "I missed talking to you."

"I missed you, too," Clarke smiled. "And I have a few questions for you."

"What, no small talk?"

"Small talk is for candlelit dinners over many bottles of red wine. And unfortunately, I'm still in the middle of working."

"Well, I'm glad you took a break to talk to me."

"You're always worth my time, Lexa." Clarke allowed herself a moment to blush before getting back to her original focus. "I'm gonna ask you these questions as long as you promise not to ask me anything about them."

"One of these days your mysteries will stop being so charming, Clarke."

"Yeah, but not today," Clarke chuckled. "Are you going to be at work tomorrow?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Well, only slightly unfortunately. These are good kids and I love being around them. I just wish I could be at home with a blanket and some whiskey more."

"Is there space near your building big enough to fit a truck with a trailer?"

"Yes…"

"Can you predict which kids will show up tomorrow…"

"Yes."

"…and can you give me their names?"

"Clarke—"

"First names only; I don't know if you have any sort of confidentiality policy but you definitely don't need to violate it for me."

"Clarke, you're scheming again."

"Yes, I am."

"Do you do this often?"

"You must inspire it in me."

Lexa laughed, then sighed. "Alright, I'll email you a list of names. When can I expect this mysterious truck and trailer?"

"If I told you, then it wouldn't be mysterious."

"As long as we're demanding things of each other, I think you should clear your schedule for tomorrow."

"I thought I was the only one making demands."

"Do you have anything to do tomorrow?"

"No," Clarke grinned. "I'm all yours."

"Goodnight, Clarke."

"Merry Christmas, Lexa."

/

Trailers, Clarke discovered, were not as easy to maneuver as Bellamy had told her they were. Especially not in four inches of slush. But she carried on anyway because it was Christmas and that's just what you did.

Otis was parked in front of the building so Clarke pulled around to the back as best she could. What she didn't count on, however, was the fact that the alley narrowed to the point where her truck couldn't go any farther, leaving her sticking halfway out into the street.

"Fuck," she muttered, resting her head on the steering wheel. In the middle of her moping, Clarke's phone buzzed. " _Fuck_ ," she repeated, then cleared her throat and answered.

"There's a mysterious truck and trailer stuck behind my building."

"Don't you ever just say hello?"

"Clarke."

"Fine," she sighed. "Yes. I am stuck."

"Clarke, there's more than enough room in the parking lot out front. Most of these kids walk here; those spots aren't going to be taken anytime soon."

"I wanted it to be a surprise," Clarke whined.

Lexa chuckled. "Oh believe me—you're a surprise alright. Loop around to the front; I'll meet you there."

"Sure."

Lexa was standing with her arms crossed, smiling, in the parking lot when Clarke pulled in. She started backing up and guiding Clarke like an air traffic controller. Clarke flipped her off.

"Don't worry, I'm still surprised," Lexa said when Clarke hopped out of the car. "I didn't think it'd take you that long to drive in a semicircle."

"Listen, I was misled about how easy this would be."

"I have an idea about what's inside that trailer but I don't want to know until you tell me where you work first."

"I can answer that for you." Clarke pulled a business card out of her wallet and handed it to Lexa, giggling at the way her eyes instantly bulged.

"You work for Orion Toys?" Lexa blurted.

"I don't just work for them, I helped build the company," Clarke smiled.

"I changed my mind; I have no idea what's in that trailer."

"Well, I can answer that, too. See, when my friend Raven and I started this company, I would design the toys and she would build them, and as we got popular, our ideas just kept getting bigger until they weren't toys for kids anymore, they were figurines for adults. We tried to scale them back but they always had something missing and none of the focus groups of kids wanted to play with them. So we hired a design team, I moved over to marketing, and now Raven oversees our main production line. But I've always kept that stash of rejects because I knew someone would want them someday. And also they're just _really_ fucking cool."

"Clarke…"

"I boxed all of them up for the kids except for this one. I knew it wouldn't be a kid's toy when I designed it but it was just too good of a concept to pass up. It's always been my favorite thing that Raven's ever made."

Clarke handed Lexa the figurine. It was only about eight inches tall and it didn't move much. It was an archer ready to fight, standing with her bow outstretched. Her ponytail extended almost in a straight line behind her head; if Clarke looked close enough, she could imagine it blowing in the wind.

"You can wind up her arms and push the button on her back to shoot the arrows. They don't fly too far but the tips are hard enough that they'll stick into most fabrics. It feels like you really hit a target, you know? I thought kids would like that."

"Did you paint this yourself?" Lexa whispered, running her hands over the hard plastic.

"Well, the funny thing is, she wasn't painted until about a week ago. I couldn't ever get the colors right. But the more time I spent with you…well, I think she also looks like someone who would name her car Otis."

Lexa placed the figurine on the bottom of the trailer and stepped closer to Clarke, her eyes shining. "You look entirely too pleased with yourself right now."

Clarke smirked. "Yeah, but is it working?"

Lexa kissed her.

It worked.


End file.
